


Secrets we hold dear

by snofeey



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hey look Keith's not all that dense and has some social skills, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Light Angst, Sheith if you squint, Team Bonding, dealing with FEELINGS, episode 11 and that argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:24:24
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8824564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snofeey/pseuds/snofeey
Summary: Keith knew his team; knew what kept them up at night, the memories of home that were worth more than a Lion's weight in gold. He knew how to get them talking, how to weather the tirades caused by grief and fear. He knew because they were important, because they mattered, and if he didn't matter as much as he thought he did, well, that was ok.
--Or Keith being emotionally competent for once, deciding that this mismatched group was worth calling family and taking care of, even if that does mean talking about feelings.





	

Keith knew his team.

He knew that Hunk learned to cook from his grandmother, that even when she had Alzheimer’s she remembered the chubby boy who cooked beside her. He knew that Pidge didn’t really need glasses, but that she kept wearing her brother’s old frames, her reading lenses replacing his prescriptions, because they were a memory from home.

He knew that Allura liked to read in cramped nooks because it reminded her of being a child, of happier times. He knew that Lance missed home so fiercely that it hurt, that half the time his laughter was born to hide the pain. Knew that Coran wouldn’t read out the shape of constellations with the rest of them because the loss of his children was still too painful to do so. He knew that Shiro saw demons at night, couldn’t tell what was memory and what imagination, but that Shiro would never ask for help because Garrison had taught him to be self-reliant.

Keith knew his team. He listened; never talked much, but enough to get the  story going. He knew when to make an observation, softly, when to ask a leading question. So quick to flare outside of the dark hallways and corners where everyone hid with their sorrow, in those moments of baring the soul he weathered it all. Even Lance, throwing _you don’t understand!_ angrily in his face, knowing it would hurt, choking on the grief he knew he had caused his family, doubled over the pain of not knowing, worry, of longing for _home_.

_No,_ Keith had agreed, not caring if it were true or not, because right now, it didn’t matter. _I don’t. So_ tell _me._ And he sat there, calm and smiling, a little sadly, but who’d notice?, as Lance stumbled at first and then steadied; listened to Lance’s stories of home, of family, friends, of all the small things that he missed. Of rain and laughing at the waves, surfing and running through puddles. The smell of plantains, picadillo and the heavy heat of cumin.

Keith knew that Allura was somewhere in the five stages of grief, for a second time. He knew that Pidge bounced in and out of it, agonizing over the dilemma of ‘dead’ or ‘disappeared’. And so Pidge found someone who understood what it meant to be on her side of the equation, who knew that _we’ll find them_ is a good pasting-over, but doesn’t erase the fear of _what if I_ never _find them?,_ coupled with the guilt of leaving the last member of her family behind. And Allura could cry and tell her stories of a man dearly loved by his daughter and his people, stories she couldn’t share with Coran for fear of over-burdening an already burdened trusted friend, and Keith even shared some of his precious memories along with assurances that, somehow, one did learn to live with the gaping hole that a parent’s death caused.

He knew that Hunk ate his feelings, that he empathized so strongly he’d eat for others as well, particularly when he noticed them locked in stress, until they gave in and took his cooking. Keith’d found out when plates of food and baking kept finding him after fights with Lance, when, exasperated but amused, he had returned them to share with Hunk. And so became friends, for a meal shared is a friend found. And then, one night when the fire of nerves had him up, pacing the halls, he found Coran staring at the stars. And he knew, saw, the loss that complemented his own, that could never be shared with the last member of Coran’s race because so much already rested on her shoulders.

_I had a star chart as a kid_ , Keith had said softly, _a birthday present._ Coran had smiled sadly, nodded; pointed out the constellations that were almost those of ten-thousand years ago. A father’s gift: knowledge of the stars.

Keith knew what that dull look, tired set, in Shiro’s eyes meant. Nightmares and demons, memories of nothing good and worries about what remained forgotten. He knew that Shiro would always put others first and so refused to let him do so at night, that or all of Shiro’s attempts to get Keith to open up at Garrison would fall under _do as I say not as I do_ and Keith would never let him live it down. Somehow, as Shiro laughed despite himself, it worked, though some days better than others. And if Shiro needed to sit close, collapse onto Keith and just feel the steady presence of another human next to him, Keith let him without comment; accepted the trust and returned it. So much unsaid these days, but right now, that's what they both could handle.

He knew his team. Knew them well enough to anticipate their moves, fly and fight alongside them, moving on instinct, never really having a plan but moving into _just the right spot_ at _just the right time_. He knew them well enough to deflect questions about him, his home and family, into harmless answers and back on them; knew that they needed the chance to relive home more than he did. Only Shiro knew what was going on, but he also knew that there was not much to talk about. Not the way Pidge remembered her mother, Hunk the cooks he worked for every summer and grew up with, and certainly not in the way Lance detailed life with his large, loud, Irish-Cuban family. If Keith needed anything, it was this: a weird, thrown together family where he fit.

But he never said anything; the mess behind that need was his, not theirs, and he knew it would open a world of hurt if they found out. Because he knew that they wouldn’t understand, but they would see the pain and try to, and while bits and pieces could be understood, together they made him a mess of broken pieces taped together, and that they would never know. Worse would be the pity that always seemed to accompany his admissions, pity that undermined and overshadowed the strength that had allowed him to survive; Shiro had been one of the few to see it and let _it_ outshine the gut reaction to saccharine platitudes.

* * *

 

The Red Lion knew its Paladin. It felt the fires that linked them together, saw the past that stretched out behind both, informed their decisions and actions from that fateful moment up until now. It knew that together they simply _were_.

And Keith knew that _this_ was all he needed. He could weather anything now, him and Red.

* * *

 

The Voltron team knew their Red Paladin. They knew that Keith would glare and deny it if they ever confronted him, but that when they needed a shoulder, someone to listen, he’d be there. Somehow, he always seemed to be there. They knew that for someone who didn’t talk much, Keith always seemed to know the right thing to say, when to speak and when to wait silently.

They knew that if they ever needed anything, Keith would move the stars to help. But they also knew that he would never ask for it himself. That they would never find him, stymied by grief and homesickness, worry and nightmares, as he had found them all. His pain was private, and they respected that. If anything should ever change, they would be there, even if they had to sit him down, hell, have Hunk sit on _him_ , and hold an intervention to do so, they would be there.

And Keith knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Maybe that’s why, when everyone started shouting and anger overtook fear, he stepped back, shrank in and stopped protesting the suicidal nature of the rescue mission. Because maybe he didn’t know them as well, matter as much, as he had thought he did.

But they still mattered, just as much, and so he’d do whatever he could to keep them safe.


End file.
